


I've got soul (but I'm not a soldier)

by WhimperSoldier



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste (Captive Prince) Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimperSoldier/pseuds/WhimperSoldier
Summary: "He took our kingdom, Laurent!" Thehe took you, went unspoken.Laurent watched him with his mouth partly open and eyes swimming with tears. He looked as if a breeze might blow him out the window."Auggie--" Laurent whispered, soft and heartbroken, "--both things were freely given."OrAuguste wakes ten years after the Battle at Marlas.
Relationships: Auguste & Laurent (Captive Prince), Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 351





	I've got soul (but I'm not a soldier)

**Author's Note:**

> I love Auguste, but I wanted to imagine the dissonance that this whole situation would cause between the men that love Laurent most, and then I didnt even get to it. Oh well.

When he awoke it was to a harsh light shining in his eyes and the whisper of summer curtains brushing the wooden floors.

His whole body felt limp and his legs were unresponsive, everything below his waist refusing to move when he commanded it. Wishing to reach up and pinch his chin which was covered in a thick layer of beard. His hair was clean, he could tell, along with a smooth cotton shirt which was loose and white. Even the sheets were tucked tight under him, a clear sign he was being cared for and moved.

He thought back to the last thing he could remember, it wasn't sickness, he hadn't gotten truly sick since he was a babe, but the memory slipped like water between his fingers. Laurent, he was there, crying--

The door opened, a mouse of a woman entered carrying a tray balancing a bowl of broth and a small tea towel. She talked while she worked, wiping down the few surfaces in the dull room and skipping from talk of her sister to muttering about the price of cheese.

"Of course the kings are to meet, so I have little faith!" She muttered and when she turned around to presumably slide broth down his throat, she screamed because he was sitting up, ignoring the flare of pain from decayed muscles.

"Tell me of my brother," Auguste demanded.

~~~

The road to Marlas from Arles was a rocky path and it shook the wooden frame his physician had made for him to keep him upwards and using muscles that had gone unused for years. 10 years.

Gone was his baby brother, 13 summers old and full of piss and vinegar. He was replaced with a spector Auguste had yet to meet but which loomed over him nonetheless. He wondered if he would even recognize him, changed as he was.

He had married the barbarian king and fucked him before the court, his nursemaid had said, sold off his body to fight a war that was not his own to solidify his power, his doctor had hissed when he had pushed for more information.

He is a cold and harsh man who flayed the skin from his husband's back before crawling into his bed, a straight backed washerwoman had hissed.

The people of the small estate outside Arles, his late uncle's estate, were open with their words and free with their tongues.

He killed his uncle to gain power before his time, he traded his people's lives for the staff of Akelios, he had betrayed them and their master and if Auguste went to see him, they warned, he would kill him too.

Auguste may have been haunted by his brother, but he felt no fear of him. Laurent could be many things, snide and petty, but never cruel, and never to him.

So it was with upturned noses, he and his party marched to the grand Palace at Marlas, the site of his greatest defeat repurposed to show the glory of Akelios and the fall of the line of the Kings of Vere.

While the walls were tall and sparsely decorated in the Akelios style, there were tall parapets which were inlaid with intricately carved mosaics and sweeping fabric banners richly fluttering in the wind.

The guards moved, shuffled in warning at their approach, but brought them to the throne room nonetheless. Both thrones were at the same height, a farce of power, and both sat empty.

It was the soldier resplendent in hammered steel with golden sunburst inlaid that caught his eye.

Jord was shocked, mouth agape and face bleached of blood. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

"Bring me to my brother." Auguste demanded and the servants who had flocked around him seemed delighted in the spectacle. His uncle had chosen poorly it seemed.

The tall, broad, dark skinned man beside him narrowed his eyes and moved to the closest door.

"I will inform the king of your arrival." He was stopped by two of Auguste's guards.

He had been very firm when they were outlining their plan, he would need to see his brother before anything was decided, and he would not be allowed anywhere close if the Lion of Ios caught wind he was here.

"It seems Vere and Akelios are one now, that makes me a king as well. You will listen to your betters." Auguste hated that he sounded so frigid but this world was not his own and even after a month of being awake, everything still felt like a walking dream. He had to see his brother.

"You are not my king." The man responded coolly and his eyes flashed to Jord, who was looking resolutely at his feet. "And it was not Damianos to whom I was referring."

Jord flinched at that, and Auguste watched in shock as he straightened his back and walked to the man's side.

"We will inform the kings of your arrival." Jord echoed but it was not the harsh demand, it was a white flag waved over a future battlefield. Auguste did not have the men to waste on a battle, and Jord was once a friend, even if he was now in bed with their enemy.

"Bring me to my brother."

They forced him to wait for hours, and as the servants chattered like hens about the injustice of it all, Auguste could feel his ire rise with their own.

Eventually a woman walked forward and greeted them, bowing mildly to him and waved just him forward.

"They are my retune." Auguste argued when she firmly shook her head.

"The king demanded only your presence. Your people may wait here." She was nothing but polite but there was an edge to her voice that spoke of displeasure.

The room he was taken to was warm and open, the large balcony doors thrown wide and sheer white curtains which billowed lightly. From the rest of the palace, this looked distinctly more Veretian, with scattered paintings and a finely carved changing screen.

He stopped before the largest painting hanging above the mantel, a portrait of two men.

They stood half facing each other, eyes carefully tracking the viewer. They wore fine clothes in the richest blues and reds but it was the small shine tucked into the Prince-Killer's curls that drew a churning fury into his stomach.

He wore their mother's crown.

Laurent, for that tall elegant man delicately holding Damianos' hand had to be his little brother, wore a golden laurel nested in his hairstyle of expertly woven braids. Auguste could see the reasoning, the combining of the nations, but nothing could cool the roaring fury in his breast to tear the crown from the murderer's hair and perhaps take his head with it.

"Auguste?"

He turned at his name and all thoughts were gone in the face of his brother with tear tracks staining his cheeks. Instinctively, his feet shuffled forward and they were matched with Laurent's.

They crashed into each other with the frenzy of tears and Auguste had almost forgotten in the horror and hatred of the last few months, exactly how it felt like to have Laurent's soft hair tucked up under his chin. The only difference he could find was that now he needn't kneel nor have to hoist his brother up. They came together with the softness of perfectly aligned puzzle pieces, a soft and satisfying click.

So it was not his brother, could never have been. The blind hatred of the servants and physician winding him down a dark path he hadn't even noticed he had walked. So no, his brother would never have called for the killing of their uncle, never have given up their throne and their mother's circlet, and never would have bedded the man who had placed Auguste in his long sleep in the first place.

It had to be his husband.

"Lulu," Auguste took a step back and ran wide palms down his cheeks. Laurent had grown handsome, slimmer than Auguste but wiry strong under the delicate layers of embroidery and the large capped sleeves. "Laurent, how I missed you."

"He took you from me. He told me you were dead." Laurent whispered and Auguste wondered what other lies the king of Akelios had told to lure his brother into his bed. "I'm so sorry, so sorry, I should have looked! I never should have believed him."

His voice was soft and Auguste wiped at his tears before pressing his fingers into the corners of his mouth, drawing his lips up into a parody of a smile the way their mother used to do. Laurent laughed thickly before crushing himself into the thick cotton of Auguste's shirt.

"He is not a good man, Laurent, we have to go, now." Auguste had planned to lure Laurent back to Arles over the span of a week or so, enough time for word to spread and his men to gather. It had been a lifetime but they would come when he called, and then they would take back their home. Together.

"Augie, he's dead, he is gone," Laurent seemed now to console Auguste, rubbing up and down his arms in a calming gesture of love. "I am safe now."

Auguste was confused. The King of Akelios was very much alive and from his reports, in the very castle in which they resided, so unless Laurent had killed him in the last hour, Auguste wondered just who made his brother tremble like a baby deer. Auguste shook his head and leaned forward, his hands going uncomfortably tight around Laurent's shoulders.

"Lulu, you don't have to stay with him anymore. Together we can take back Vere, and kill the one who thought he could stop us!"

He had practiced the lines in his washbasin while shaving himself for the first time since he woke, imagining the look of delight he remembered from his little brother when they rode their horses faster than their tenders cared for. But this look was not one of wonder and love, in fact Auguste watched with confusion as Laurent shuttered closed, stepping back and tilting his head the way he had when courtiers had inquired about perhaps taking him on as a pet.

It was never a look Aguste had seen sent his way.

"You mean Damianos?" Laurent asked, quiet and sure and Auguste nodded quickly. It was dangerous to speak of such things but Auguste wanted Laurent to know he was not to be abandoned. 

"He took our kingdom, Laurent!" The _he took you_ , went unspoken.

Laurent watched him with his mouth partly open and eyes swimming with tears. He looked as if a breeze might blow him out the window.

"Auggie--" Laurent whispered, soft and heartbroken, "--both things were freely given."

Auguste wanted to yell, to shake sense into his brother but Laurent, for all his height, had not changed in temperament, and looked to be shutting down into himself like a tumbling tower of cards.

"Lulu--"

"Laurent?"

They both turned to the door with identical looks of disbelief.

Damianos stood at the threshold, a thin layer of fabric tucked loosely around his waist and over his shoulder. He held a bundle of cloth in his arm and was looking at them both with confusion and then dawning realization.

"Prince Auguste?" Damianos asked, softly and full of such mockery that Auguste couldn't stop himself from lunging forward, drawing the small knife one of his servants had sewn into his clothes.

The monster didn't respond the way he had expected, turning so that the sharp blade slipped into the scarred meat of his back.

Three piercing screams echoed around the room, Damianos' as he tumbled to the floor, reaching a hand out to stop the bleeding where Auguste had pulled free his knife, Laurent's as he raced forward to fall at his captor's side, and finally the small child Auguste hadn't seen swaddled in the blankets Damianos had been holding.

Auguste hesitated for a moment until he saw the dark hair and skin. The child was not his brothers, perhaps a bastard he expected his brother to raise as a king.

_How dare he?_

"Move aside Laurent," Auguste went to gently lift his brother away, they needed to leave now, but he was stunned when Laurent's leg shot out backward, catching him under the knee and sending him sprawling onto the ground.

His knife was expertly shifted from his hand with a block and a whip of Laurent's fingers and the dripping blade was pointed at him.

The doors were thrown open and guards rushed in. A few raced to their king, the growing puddle of blood causing them to yell in their primitive tongue for what Auguste assumed was a physician.

This all came secondary to him, eclipsed by the towering presence that was his brother, blood staining the front of his clothes and the bloody knife held in a white-knuckle grip. He was fearsome and wild with his golden hair haloing his pointed face, sharp with anger and anguish.

He wanted to explain, show his brother what he had done for him, but he was not given the chance. 

"Lulu, listen--" his soft plea was cut off with an icy bark for two guards to step forward.

"Take him to the cells."

~~~

The cells were as dank as the name would suggest. Auguste spent the first day pacing and the second in tears, by the third he ached for his brother and not the stoic slaves who brought him his meals.

He was visited by a machine in place of his brother, a sharp cold statue that wore his face and spoke with his voice. Auguste wondered if he was putting on a show for the men who stood to his back, but Laurent never flashed any of their codes or signs. Auguste wondered if he had forgotten them. Auguste asked to see his people, to assure their safety and Laurent laughed harshly and in a snide voice, implied he had turned them into the streets.

It seemed Auguste was ten years too late to save his baby brother.

When his brother finally came again, it was late into the night and he was alone. Auguste had become adept at measuring the time by the dripping of the candle and when it was to be replaced. That was the only reason he was surprised to find Laurent standing in front of his cell soon after the witching hour.

He'd had hours to think, to replay every angle of the scene until he understood every moment, every action, every breath. It was a skill he had shared with his brother. Now, all he had were questions.

Gone was the rich finery and the intricate braids, replaced with buttery soft riding breeches and a wide necked cotton shirt. Laurent had forgone shoes in place of thick woolen socks. His hair was loose around his face and in that moment he looked so young, Auguste wondered if he had stepped out of a memory.

"Damen will live." Laurent moved forward and set the candlestick holder between the bars on Auguste's cell. "Pascal says the scar tissue of his back might have saved his life."

"They say you gave him those scars," Auguste whispered. "Why, if you love him so much, would you disfigure him?"

Auguste wanted a singular answer and from Laurent's stricken face, he was going to get it. 

"He had killed you."

"Yet now you warm his bed, you sell our _kingdom_?" Auguste drew back, covering his layers of anger under simple interest, but Laurent was too quick for it to go unnoticed. "You sold your family, me, mother, our uncle--"

"Do not speak of things you do not understand!" Laurent commanded and Auguste paused, taken aback by the sharp tone and ringing echo in his ears.

Laurent had the voice of a king and commander.

"You wish to talk of treachery? Who do you think it was that kept you contained? Who leveraged your life every time I stepped out of line?" Laurent as sharp as ice. "Who do you think it was who killed father?"

"Uncle would never--" 

"Even as a child I would notice his pets. I thought them playmates, but they proudly told me they were quite too old for games when I asked." Laurent's voice had taken on a warbling sing-song tone, which came off as if the story he was weaving would leave the listener feeling incredibly dull. "And the court looked on, allowed it, and the rapes and all the other despicable things those with power love to do to those without."

"They were young, Laurent, but they signed the contract same as-" he stopped when his brother's face scrunched up in disbelief. "Laurent, some things are not ours to interfere with."

"They were my age. Marten was younger, he had just turned twelve." Laurent paused, eyes never wavering from Auguste. He made sure not to flinch. "Uncle coveted everything we had, our wealth, our power, our ability to shape the world to our specifications."

"You were next in line, he can not change the status of your birth!" Auguste felt distinctly out of his element. During their discussions, the servants had mentioned nothing of this.

"And after me, was him. All that stood in his way was _me._ " 

Auguste had no words, brain cycling through his memories of his uncle, trying to find something to compare this new image to. All that he could remember was half formed thoughts about his blandness.

"Our system may not be perfect, but we are not slavers!" It was a low blow, they both knew it, but Auguste hadn't ever needed to be proud before his brother. "How many slaves has your husband fucked on your marriage bed, Laurent? That bastard he has, do you really think that will be the only one? Laurent, see sense!"

Laurent scoffed and though his eyes were filled with tears, theirs both were, his mouth went sharp and his bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile.

"Leon is our second child. Our first, our heir, is named Augusta. She will be eleven in the spring." Laurent went quiet and leaned in. It gave his words more weight and was a trick he had learned from their father. "We found her in a brothel in Lys with your signet ring on a tattered cord around her neck. The final gift from her dead mother."

Laurent didn't need to spell it out, Auguste knew the woman, Annaline, who had tumbling brown curls and a smile sweet as honey. And a child. His child.

The fight was fading fast from his bones. It took a few tries to get his mouth open to speak, almost as if his words were getting caught in his throat.

"She is… is she… good?" Auguste had thought very little about children. His father had been in his late thirties when he had married his significantly younger mother, and Auguste had thought the same could be said for him. But he had a daughter.

"She is very good. Smart as a whip, and also very proficient with a sword. She can ride better than most grown adults, even on her pony. She and Damen ride out to the practice ranges--" Auguste's eye jolted up to meet his brother's.

"--you let my daughter fight the monster who took her from her father?" Auguste demanded and Laurent, lost in the soft remembering, seemed shocked at his anger. "Damen, you call him, but look what he has done! Laurent, listen, he has stolen everything!"

Laurent's eyes shone like sea-glass in the flickering candlelight.

"I know you are mad. You have every right to be, but you are making accusations on the basis of misinformation. Tomorrow you will be moved to the guest wing where you will be given the full rights of your stature, by order of the king." Laurent looked tired. "Both of them."

He was silent as he left, leaving the candlestick burning low behind him.

~~~

Just as Laurent had promised, he was shown to his new quarters by a quiet Akelion and a Vereitian woman with a thick Delfeur accent. They were richly decorated with marble mosaic along the fireplace depicting dancing koi and cranes. There were carved cabinets filled with fresh linens and his clothes and wide doors leading to a balcony. The view was the same as the one in his brother's room, meaning he must have been placed in the royal wing.

He felt a bloom of affection for his brother curl in his gut.

Midafternoon the servants all flooded in with a burst of warmth and anger. Angelina, the eldest woman who had been with his uncle since she was a child, took to checking him over. Auguste found it a bit much, but thought their dedication a sweet gesture.

His brother had not thrown them out, simply put them to work, his physician said as he worked the sore muscles of his legs. The nights in the cells had done little for his improving condition.

It was when Laurent entered, back straight and with a laced jacket tightened to his throat, that we wondered what had chilled his brother. He looked as sharp and severe as a king should be.

"Leave." The servants looked to Auguste as if he might contradict the order, but he remained quiet, watching the harsh edge of his brother fade as each of the servants walked high-handed out the door.

"I need to see her." Auguste stated.

"Not now. She knows you only as a bedtime story." Laurent went and poured himself a drink, sipping the water and watching the sprawling city wake.

"I'm surprised your husband allowed such talk in his palace." Auguste taunted, and watched Laurent's face sour.

"Damen demanded you be remembered. You have statues in every palace, we make a pilgrimage to Arles each year on the day of your birth with Augusta, it was he who picked our daughter's name." Laurent was annoyed but also looked extremely tired. He tilted back his glass and finished the chilled water, never meeting Auguste's eyes. "He is not the man you think he is."

"You thought he killed me, yet you jumped into bed with him, and gave him our kingdom,"

"Would you quit saying that!" Laurent burst out, slamming his empty glass onto the nearby table. "We are rulers together. Vere is not gone, it is now a part of a bigger whole. Vereian people are faring better now than they have in the last hundred years and the same can be said the Akelions. What we have done is build an empire, not tear one down."

The room was quiet and Laurent now refused to break eye contact, as if looking away would mean admitting defeat.

Auguste found himself at a loss for words. In discussions he'd always had the numbers, reports, and information neatly arranged so as to never be caught unawares but his brother seemed to know every chink in his armor.

"Laurent--" the apology was on the tip of his tongue.

"I am overjoyed you are back, I have felt your loss like a missing limb. When I was younger, everything I did was in service to your memory, to your ghost. I wanted nothing more than to make you proud." And for a moment, with his walls lower and his face as soft and open as a child, Laurent looked thirteen again. Then like a shifting of clouds, the king eclipsed the child. "But now I am more than just your brother. I am a husband, a father. A king. I have to do what is best for the people who rely on me."

It would have been impossible to do anything other than pull Laurent into his arms and hold him tight against his chest.

"Tell me of what I missed. Teach me." Auguste whispered in the soft braids of Laurent's hair. Laurent turned to marble in his arms before slowly unwinding himself.

"I will tell you everything, but--" Laurent gathered himself and leaned back to make sure his steely gaze was met. "You will never look at me the same."

Auguste went quiet. He gently brushed a stray rear that had slid from his brother's eye.

"I wish to know this new Laurent. Come what may." Auguste said. As if a dam had ruptured, Laurent folded into his arms and sobbed like he hadn't since he was a babe. Auguste could only crush him into the warmth of his arms. "Laurent, what could possibly be worse than Damianos?"

Laurent rubbed frantically at his cheeks and straightened his wrinkled jacket.

"Auguste, our uncle, he…well, he..."

~~~

Auguste watched the town go dark, candles sat in windows being blown out. Laurent had left hours ago, shoulders light, as if he had unloaded a burden that had been dragging him down. He had learned much, but none of it changed the swelling love that was rooted in his soul.

Even having been told his uncle had been dead for years, Auguste wished for his sword to run him through and watch his face as it twisted in pain. He wanted him to suffer, the way he had made his little brother suffer.

"Prince Auguste."

Auguste spun around in shocked awe.

Damianos stood in his doorway, shoulder wrapped in gauze, but offering a soft smile at his dropped jaw. He may not have forgiven the man, but he had helped Laurent when no one else would, and for that Auguste would hear him out before he stabbed him again.

"Would you like to sit?" Auguste asked as if Damianos didn't own the whole palace.

"Thank you." Damianos sat and they watched the final street lights go dark, the candlelighters torches drifting like willowisps down the roads. "I love this time of night."

"If you are expecting an apology, you will find yourself disappointed," Auguste had little love for small talk, even if the man was married to his brother. 

"Actually, I came to ask for your forgiveness." The king hung his head and rubbed anxious circles into the meat of his thumb. "I was a brash, head-strong boy looking for glory in a place where there was none. Laurent has told me many times I am not to blame, but I have always felt if I had just remained kneeling, given you the win, perhaps we could have all walked off that battlefield."

"Hindsight offers us nothing but bitter regrets. Learn from your mistakes and move on." Auguste was sharp. He didn't wish to give warmth to Damianos, and he seemed to realize it, standing and bowing to him in a way that could so easily feel mocking but from him seemed an ernest expression of respect.

"One thing, Prince Auguste." Damianos had always seemed strong, but standing with his back half facing Auguste and the pink hint of old blood staining his gauze, Damianos looked dangerous. "Laurent has idolized you since he was a boy. Do not let him down."

"What do you know of brothers?"Auguste snapped, annoyed at the conversation and the growing pain in his legs from standing all day.

"You are right. My brother betrayed me, tore me from my home, and took everything I cared for. I will do so much more to whomever thinks they can hurt Laurent or the things he has built." Damianos stood as strong as an emperor of old, even missing his laurels. "Do we understand each other?"

It was not a friendship, but it was an unsteady truce. Auguste nodded once, tight, and Damianos left without a goodbye.

It was a strange world he had found himself thrown into, one of allies and enemies switching places and sides. Auguste stood and leaned on the marble railing lined with golden filigree.

Laurent could not be expected to have a clear head after the years he was left alone without anyone on his side. Caged birds still sing a sweet song, Auguste thought grimmly.

Laurent was a determined boy but he had learned that particular skill from Auguste. If he wished to convince Auguste of the boon of the partnership with Akelios, he would listen, but the slice to his chest stung too much to be completely forgotten.

In time Laurent would come to see that Damianos was not needed, and it seemed Auguste would have to be the one who showed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up on tumblr @ whimper-soldier


End file.
